Found
by kayepha
Summary: One day Penelope Garcia disappeared without a word.  Four years later Gideon requests the BAU team's involvement in his granddaughter's child abduction case.  -  "Garcia's here," Reid tells them cautiously. Then he elaborates, "Garcia is the mother."
1. Take a Breath

**FOUND**

Chapter One

_Take a Breath_

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* * *

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On the morning that Pip's life ends, it takes a while for her to wake. Small snippets of the world around her come drifting into her consciousness. First, there's her cheek pressed into her soft pillow, then the tickle of hair against her lips and nose. Though her eyelids are still closed Pip realises that it's _bright_ already. She can't quite remember the last time the children let her sleep in past seven, normally she wakes to squirming, giggling three year olds long before the sun has properly risen. Still, the twins are getting older now and perhaps that means Pip can look forward to more sleep-ins.

She steadfastly refuses to open her eyes just yet, trying to preserve the feeling of a nice restful sleep. As her sluggish mind continues to wake up Pip listens to a _flap flap flap _sound and wonders what it could be. The new noise is enough to prompt Pip to wiggle up higher on her pillow and open her eyes. "Seven thirty," she mutters to herself, rather confused. It isn't too rare for one of her children to sleep in, but _both_ of them at the same time is an absolute anomaly.

Pip sweeps dark blonde hair away from her face and calls out, in the odd chance that the twins are awake, "Liam, Bridie, where are my early morning snuggles?" There's no reply.

She listens intently for the pitter patter of feet down the hallway, but they don't come. With a dissatisfied sigh Pip steps out of bed, fully intending to find out what mischievous thing her children are doing. As she nears the nursery the _flap flap flap_ grows louder, more defined, and her steps quicken until she stands stiffly in the doorway.

The sight before her sends a chill up her spine which spreads to the rest of her body. _I closed the window,_ she thinks to herself, _I always leave it locked_. Those reassurances don't help her because she can see the ends of the brightly coloured curtains fluttering out of the open window. Her lungs constrict as she looks at two empty beds and she has to fight past the dizziness of panic.

"Liam? Bridget?" Pip whimpers, "babies?" After a few moments of silence Liam's sweet blonde head quickly emerges from underneath his bed, he's holding his favourite stuffed toy. Pip's hands unclench at her sides and she finds herself able to breathe again. "Liam, you had me so worried!" Pip exclaims, clutching at her chest, "where's your sister?"

Liam's small body is dwarfed by the bed behind him. "A man tooked her, Mommy," he says in his tiny voice. Dust clings to his pyjamas and hair and Pip's primary concern (rather than _when was the last time I cleaned under the beds_) is _how long has he been there?_ Her heart isn't breaking just yet, because she's trying to convince herself that this is a prank on Bridget's behalf. Sometimes her little ray of sunshine mistakenly thinks things are funny when they are not.

Pip reminds herself that Liam isn't a very good liar. She looks for a grin or a smile, anything to indicate that he's joking, but Liam's expression remains solemn. She rushed towards her son and takes his hand in hers, helping him off the ground. "What man? When?" she asks, her voice wavering.

Liam burrows his face into his mother's legs, Pip can feel his warmth pressing against her, seeking comfort. Bridget doesn't jump out of the closet and yell '_surprise_' like Pip wills her to. "The man in the window," Liam replies softly, "he taked her away. He told me to hide under the bed." His little shoulders shudder with sobs while he explains and all Pip can do is thread shaky fingers through his curls for a moment, trying to grasp what's happening.

"Come with me and we'll get Papa," Pip tells Liam, keeping her voice even. She hoists him up onto her hip in one fluid movement and he still feels light, even though he's beginning to be all limbs. She moves quickly towards the stairs, trying not to make her sensitive son more upset than he already is.

"Jason?" she calls out when she's on the top landing. Jason inhabits the top storey of the home and Pip has never been more thankful for that than she is at this moment. She doesn't even wait for him to appear from his study, "I just woke up and Bridie's gone. Liam says she's been kidnapped. What are we…" the words catch in her throat and she can't say anything more. Images from time at a park the day before swim around in Pip's head- her little girl stomping over the wooden bridge 'like a billy-goat', rushing down the slide head-first while Pip cries out in protest. "…what do we do?" she finishes weakly.

Jason instructs Pip to call 911 and begins gently probing Liam gently for information. There are fourteen stairs and a hallway to rush down before she reaches the phone in the kitchen. Her fingers are trembling so much that it takes three attempts to dial. "911, please state your emergency," prompts a distant voice.

"My daughter, my baby, she's missing- someone has taken her," she tries to speak properly even though dissolving into sobs is all too appealing, "some time early this morning my son saw a man come into their room through the window and he took my little girl."

She stays on the phone with the dispatcher and answers the questions he shoots at her. He assures her that in the meanwhile a cop car is making its way to her address and that doesn't ease the anxiety as much as it should. At the same time she manages to make Liam's toast and fix some coffee. Pip has always been good at multi-tasking, and keeping herself busy has always been her response to stress.

Liam and Jason appear in the kitchen hand in hand. The boy's face has developed a paleness that would at other times prompt Pip to check his temperature. He's not sick now though, just scared and confused, and every now and then his dark eyes clench tight and squeeze out tears that Jason helps dash away.

"I can hear the sirens now," Pip tells the dispatcher, and they end the call. The shrill sounding of the siren is distant, yet still some streets away. She has only minutes before people start combing through her life, through her house, and she's going to have to relay her story over and over again until Bridget is found.

"Your Mom has breakfast ready and, because it's going to be a topsy-turvy day today, I think you get to eat it on the couch," Jason announces, not pausing to check what Pip thinks about the lethal mix of peanut butter and the lounge room furniture. Liam's quiet scuffing as he moves to the lounge room is so far removed from his normal totter and Bridget's accompanying exuberant trot.

The urge to lie in bed with a child tucked under each arm is so intense that it makes Pip close her eyes and lean against the counter, hoping she can compose herself. She has heard about families who had gone through things like this, she's met them, helped them, but has never entertained the thought that it could happen to her. Statistics present themselves in her head, what is the likelihood of having Bridget returned? What is the likelihood of Bridget being _alive_? Unharmed? _Oh God, what if…_

Pip feels Jason's sturdy hands come and rest on her shoulders, "stop thinking," he tells her sternly. Her eyelids flutter open and gaze at his face, one that is wrinkled in concern but otherwise emotionless. "Bridie will be found, but we need to take the appropriate steps. The police will be here soon, the Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team will come, and an AMBER alert will be issued," his arms draw her into a hug and Pip lets her rest her head on his shoulder for a few short moments. It's good that he knows what to do, because Pip doesn't.

The guarded contact between them reminds Pip of a different period in her life, long before she had children. The memories were supposed to be hidden, to never be relevant to Pip's life again. "But they'll _look_ and our life here will be placed in jeopardy! I'll be found out and if Peter is still looking…" She's so terrified that she can scarcely whisper about her fears. Her lungs have stopped working and she can't breathe and the world ended approximately seven minutes ago.

"Calm down," Jason hums into her ear, slowly drawing his arms away until they drop down to his sides, "I know that you've been scared for all these years, but we have no choice in the matter. In child abduction it's not just the perpetrator who is profiled- it's the victims, family and family friends. They will confirm that I don't have a niece. They'll question every aspect of your life and discover holes with or without our help."

"I just want her back and I don't want him finding us," Pip mumbles, the tears coming now that she's had some time to process the situation. She tries desperately to be quiet and not disturb Liam in the next room, but she's not sure how much it's working.

The number of the day on Sesame Street must be seventeen because Pip can hear a familiar rap coming from the TV. She's noticing the strangest and most irrelevant details while the air closes in around her. "He'll kill me like he threatened to, or them, or _you_," she sobs.

Her only friend stares at her, his face set into a reserved expression. "This house will be too full of agents and police for anyone to come near it until Bridie is found, and after that you'll be given all the protection that's due to you. Our concern now isn't Reynolds and who you are, it's _Bridget_ and what we can do to help her," he states with finality.

Pip nods, unable to find words.

"Go check on Liam, I'm going to make some more calls," Jason offers.

. . . . .

It feels like the beginning of a swarm when the two officers knock and Pip knows it was only just starting. Her eyes are red rimmed and they sting terribly. Pip wants this to be a nightmare, even though she knows it it's real. She's still in shock and she wants to scream but there's Liam to consider. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she says with sincerity, although the phrase feels awkward on her tongue, "please come in."

The officers are both male, one of them over six feet tall and the other shorter, lither. Although they have friendly faces, Pip wants competence; people who have knowledge that's equal or superior to Jason's. Otherwise what's the point of opening her home up and being scrutinised? Pip rubs sweaty palms on her clothes and reminds herself not to be guarded. _These people are here to help_, she tells herself.

"Thank you ma'am, I'm Sergeant Jones and this is Officer Lewis. Would you be able to tell us about your situation?" The shorter of the two men asks, removing his cap and tucking it under his arm. They look so orderly and _together _and it makes Pip feel self-conscious. She's wearing a navy blue summer dress she carelessly plucked out as the quickest and easiest thing to put on. It doesn't suit the weather, but she hardly thinks that matters.

She can feel their eyes scraping over the house like it's an extension of herself. The beige walls and polished floorboards are uninspiring, but painting was such an effort when they first moved here, and since then she has come to appreciate the neutrality. It's a comfort, even now, so Pip is able to nod dumbly and welcome the officers into her house.

"I woke up at 7:33. Normally the twins come into my bed around six, but not today. So I went to their room and I saw that the window was open, which was strange because it's always shut and locked and-" Pip pauses and runs a hand through her hair in frustration "-sorry, I'm going off topic."

Officer Lewis gives an encouraging smile, "talk about what feels natural. What happened next?"

Pip nods, pursing her lips. Hasn't she always hated being examined like a thing under a microscope? But this will clearly be nothing compared to what is to come. She glances out at the street, hoping the CARD team has arrived so she doesn't have to explain this twice. They haven't. Disheartened, she closes the door and starts to explain again about how she had found Liam and all that he had said to her so far. "I haven't spoken to him about it much," Pip admits, "but Jason has. Jason Gideon, he's ex-FBI and like a grandfather to the kids. He knows better than I do what questions to ask."

"And where is he?" the Sergeant asks.

Wordlessly, Pip leads them to the kids' room. Gideon had taken Liam with him while Pip got dressed. The plan had been to make Liam play out what he had seen. Pip and the officers arrive just in time to watch Jason pat Liam on the shoulder, "you hid really well," he enthuses before gesturing to the doorway, "and look at this! You're to meet lots of new people today, like these nice policemen. How about you go shake their hands and introduce yourself?"

Liam looks up at Jason, then his mother, and finally his gaze fixes on the strangers' black boots as he timidly walks towards them. Lewis presents his hand to the young boy. "Hello, my name's Officer Lewis. What's yours?" he asks.

"I'm Liam," the child replies in the scarcest of whispers. He has never liked strangers and it takes him a long time to acclimatise to new faces. Pip hopes he can cope with today.

She wonders for a moment whether that's the reason he wasn't taken too, because he lacks the instant charm that Bridget possesses. Bridget chats to anyone, smiles at anyone, and always speaks on Liam's behalf. How will it change Liam if his sister is never found? How will the ordeal change Bridget? Pip wrings her hands together anxiously, feeling her heart march its way up into her throat. It's going to suffocate her soon, the feeling of loss, fear, and confusion.

"Let's get you dressed, hey Liam?" Pip says, moving towards the chest of drawers. She has to occupy herself with a task; otherwise she'll be consumed by her worries and won't be of help to anyone. She rifles through the drawers to pick out clothes for the day and presents each contender to Liam, trying to distract him from the quiet conversation going on between the men.

"I worked with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit for over twenty years and I'm saying you need to raise the AMBER immediately. This is an unknown abductor," Jason states quietly. Pip hears him, even though she tries not to, because she doesn't want to know.

She concentrates on helping Liam pull the orange dinosaur shirt over his head. 'Unknown' and 'abductor' are never a good combination. _More violence, more endangerment, less chance of recovery, _her memories tell her. Pip holds up Liam's jeans and tries to smile at him, "are you going to do your button today?"

. . . . .

It's just one more week until she can leave Quantico, its finicky agents, and their horrifying reports. After giving the FBI the best years of her life, Erin Strauss has certainly earned the right to spend the rest of her good years in peace with her family. She had hoped her last days as Section Chief Director would be easy, that somehow the universe and its criminals would agree to let Erin drift through the remainder of her employment with ease. In retrospect, those hopes were very foolish.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, we're about to touch down after two weeks in Maine. Most of my agents have plans and to launch straight into a case will lower morale," Aaron Hotchner's voice seems perfectly agreeable and polite, but Strauss knows he is likely beyond irritated.

She taps her fountain pen against the desk, pausing to allow the man a moment to consider himself. She is still Chief Director for five more days and she had expected her more headstrong agents to acknowledge her as their superior until then. "Jason Gideon called the Bureau in an attempt to contact you and he was forwarded to me. _He_ was the one to request your presence, so be sure to inform him of your irritation when you arrive on scene. Your pilot has been told to land at Reagan National and cars will be waiting when you arrive," she states curtly.

"Gideon, ma'am?" Hotchner repeats, as though he has misheard the name.

Erin gives an inaudible sigh, "he is particularly close to the abducted girl. I've directed the Alexandria Police Department to send you information as it becomes available. And, Agent Hotchner, if I hear of any discord I won't hesitate to pull your team from this case."

Erin places the hand piece down without waiting for a reply. Hotchner will undoubtedly have questions and she doesn't have any answers, but it's best for him to go straight to the scene. Cases involving child abduction need to be responded to straight away, she's quite aware of that and so are they. _One more week_, she reminds herself, _you're not going to be around long enough to have to justify this decision._

. . . . .

Hotch sits rigidly against the white leather seat and passes his phone between his hands. He's stuck now with the responsibility of telling the team they have another case, one of which he knows nothing about. Most of his team members are looking at him expectantly, having overheard his side of the conversation. Anderson's soft snores mean that there is at least one exception.

The jet ride back from a case is always so contrary to the journey there. The seating arrangements always change so each person can have their own space to sort out what they've seen throughout the duration of the case. After that thoughts always go towards recreation time. Instead of reading through case files, brainstorming, and looking over evidence, the agents prefer card games and sleep. Now they'll have to regroup and the air of restfulness will evaporate.

"Wake Anderson up, we're landing soon anyway," Hotch says, giving one of his agents a nod. Morgan wastes no time in complying and gives a swift kick to Sleeping Beauty's seat. Anderson bolts upright and Hotch might have even been amused, if only he didn't have a possible dead little girl sitting on his shoulders. "We've got a child abduction case in Alexandria waiting for us when we set down. A three year old girl was taken early this morning and apparently Jason Gideon asked for us. That's all I know," he explains with the slightest of grimaces.

"Gideon?" Reid asks, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Gideon," Hotch nods.

Agent Langley smiles as she ties her black hair back into a bun. "The Jason Gideon who interviewed Dahmer and the Green River Killer?" she asks eagerly. Langley has been on the team for just three months and _eager_ just about sums up her entire persona. At thirty-something she has the energy of a person half her age.

Morgan shakes his head and frowns, his eyes narrowing at the thought that he was going to reunite with the man. "No. _The_ Jason Gideon who up and abandoned our team in '07 with nothing but a note," he responds bitterly.

"They're one in the same," Hotch reminds his agents. As if cases involving children weren't already difficult enough.

A chorus of leathery squeaks fills the cabin as each of the profilers ease back into their seats. "Oh," Langley replies with a frown, "still, those are some good interviews!"

. . . . .

Pip is caught in a paradox; time seems to pass quickly, yet painfully slowly at the same time. Her fingers are tapping quickly on the arrow key as she scrolls through recent photos of Bridget. Lewis asks an endless amount of questions to confirm the likelihood of a family friend being involved and Pip knows he isn't going to get very far with this until he realizes she doesn't have friends, doesn't have family, and doesn't even have a cable guy. "Bridget's father wouldn't have taken her?" he asks at one point.

Pip's dark blonde hair sways as she shakes her head, "no chance. He doesn't even know they exist, no one does. I moved away before I even knew I was pregnant, and I haven't kept in contact with any of my old friends. My family is dead. Car crash." She is soft spoken and sincere, but she can't tell him the whole story, even when she tries to think of it as _practice for later_.

She continues looking through the photographs, staring forlornly at the screen. Memories prod at her with every image that dances in front of her. Finally, she has a handful of decent photos contained within a single folder. Pip knows she's biased but she completely believes her daughter is beautiful. She's chosen _this_ picture because hopefully Bridget's eyes will speak to anyone who sees it and _that_ one so they can see she is one hundred percent sunshine.

It takes only moments to email the images and description off, which is the first step in getting them circulated. Pip knows the rough history of AMBER alerts 'America's Missing: Broadcast Emergency Response', adopted by each state to help get the word out about missing children to the public as soon as possible. She has never thought that one would be required for _her_ children, not now, not ever. "How long until it's broadcast?" she asks Officer Lewis nervously.

"As soon as there's a hotline set up," he tells her, "your Jason Gideon is quite insistent."

"Isn't he just?" Pip replies, the first real smile of the day easing its way onto her face. Jason is on the case, and there's no one else in the world more passionate about her babies than Jason Gideon. She is about to discuss more of Jason's idiosyncrasies with the young officer, but the doorbell interrupts her thoughts. _Ding dong, there are new people here to inspect your home, ding dong, ding dong_, it seems to say.

Pip takes careful, measured steps to the front door, allowing Officer Lewis to follow behind her. She cautiously places her hand on the doorknob and takes a deep breath before swinging it open and peering to see how many new strangers she has to offer cups of coffee (or juice, or water, or any other fake niceties). _Three_, she counts as soon as she lays eyes upon them, but even as that thought enters her mind, she's staring at the one with the tousled brown hair.

"Hello, Ms. Gardiner, I'm Agent Spencer Reid from the FBI," says the lanky man on her doorstep.

He is all bony elbows, spindly legs, glorious sweater vest, and standing right there in front of her. Pip is rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak, just waiting for him to look up from the badge he's fumbling with. _Leave it to Reid to conveniently forget eye contact when introducing himself_, she thinks to herself. She tries to recall if he was always so skinny. _Maybe_, she thinks.

An eternity seems to pass and Reid still only seems to have eyes for his badge. He manages to tuck it into his pocket and Pip wills him to look at her face. Finally, it comes, "_Garcia_?"

* * *

_**A/N: **__I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There are certainly more to come! Thanks for reading and please consider leaving a review to let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and give me suggestions.  
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	2. Souvenirs

**FOUND**

Chapter Two

_Souvenirs_

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He doesn't need to draw on his eidetic memory to know it's her. The eyes are the same even though her face is thinner and she isn't primped to stand out in a crowd. Garcia's hair was brown with multicoloured highlights the last time he saw her, and even when she was _just_ blonde it was never as muted as the honey colour she has it now. Reid's brows knit tightly together as a thousand questions fill his head.

"Boy genius," she gasps. Her voice sounds the same as it ever did. "I think you should come inside," Garcia tells him (_them_, because Reid's pretty sure that she's gesturing to Anderson and Langley too). He stands back and lets the others enter first, not entirely sure that he doesn't want to stand out here and wait for the next SUV to arrive. He's had twenty minutes to prepare himself for seeing Gideon, but Garcia is a surprise.

It takes Reid three steps to cross the threshold into her home. He remembers conversations they'd had about Star Trek and how Garcia had once called him a Vulcan. _It would be nice to mind meld_, he thinks_, to know all of her memories, experiences, and emotions with just one touch._ But Reid was born human, not alien, and all he has are words. "One thousand, six hundred, forty nine days, and eight hours since I last saw you," he states. It would be over the top to tack on the minutes, but Reid knows those too.

He is aware of Langley creeping closer to Anderson and she's obviously forgotten how good Reid's hearing is, or she just doesn't care about manners. "_I think I'm missing something here_," she whispers to the other agent.

"I'll tell you later," Anderson replies, not bothering to keep his voice low. "Reid, I think this can wait. Ms. Gardiner, we've been told very little about this case and time is of the essence, so if you could gather the other members of your household, it would be helpful," he knows he has to step up and be objective. He's got three people ahead of him in a five-person team and it's very rare that he has to take the lead, but he's capable and knows the situation will turn to shambles if things aren't set up for the others when they arrive.

The officer standing next to Garcia looks like he's just realised he was dropped into a circus. "I'll go get Mr. Gideon, you just fetch your boy, Ma'am," he instructs her politely.

Reid watches them both leave and gives himself a second, but it's not enough time to stop his mind from reeling. "I think I'll go wait at the door for the rest of the team," he tells his teammates quietly. There are too many questions and the others have just as much right to listen to the answers as he does. He also doesn't think he can stick around while Anderson gives Langley an abridged version of Penelope Garcia's significance and disappearance from the team.

Reid imagines what Anderson will tell their newest agent. Anderson is the type who says it like it is and doesn't bother to use long words or elegant language. 'Years ago the team used to have one tech assigned to them, instead of having a pool. That tech was Garcia and she was great but she disappeared about four years ago, without telling anyone where she was going,' sounds about right.

Reid wonders whether Anderson is dropping other little titbits, like 'that was before the stick wasn't lodged so firmly up Morgan's ass' or 'back then an inability to smile wasn't a requirement for being on the team.' Reid could have continued playing the discussions out in his mind were it not for the synchronized slam of SUV doors.

"Why aren't you inside?" Hotch asks when he's close enough. Morgan and Kelly are trailing behind him, so Spencer waits for them to catch up. All three sets of eyes are looking at him like he's not doing his job properly (Langley especially is supposed to be kept on a short leash, and Reid is a senior agent).

Spencer fidgets momentarily with a stray thread on his sleeve, plucking it out and letting it fall to the ground. "Garcia's here," Reid tells them cautiously. Then he elaborates, "Garcia is the mother."

. . . . .

Morgan darts towards the door even though it's too early in the case for the door busting part. He moves too quickly for any of the others to lay a hand on him, so they file into the house, shocked and perplexed. Reid and Kelly have to jog to keep up, uncertain of what Morgan is going to do, but both knowing odds are that there needs to be some sort of buffer.

"I thought you were dead," Morgan yells, his voice cracking not even two words in, "we all thought you were dead, but you're not, you're here! With a _phone_ and fucking fingers, which I'm sure you could have used to _dial_!" It's wrong, so wrong, Morgan has just found out that Penelope is alive and he can't stop the anger from flooding out.

One of his balled fists slams down on the bench top and Gideon quickly steps in front of Garcia and the kid, trying to shield them from the rage. "Derek, you need to calm down. You're not in the right company to be discussing this, and right now we have to try and find a little girl," he says, trying to ease the situation.

Morgan sneers at Gideon and Anderson knows that look, it's the same one Morgan gives an unsub when they're about to be flattened against a wall. He jumps between them fast enough to stop Morgan from swiping Gideon, but cops a blow himself. Anderson's shoulder has to _hurt_ and Morgan knows there's going to be pay back for it later. "Get a hold of yourself," Anderson snaps, gingerly raising a hand to rub at his left shoulder, "seriously."

_Easier said than done_, Morgan thinks, and he can't make himself apologise, even though he knows that he should. They understand, the team understands, Jason Gideon understands, and Penelope sure as hell _better_ understand. He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back, "alright."

"Ah, look folks, it's obvious that there's something going on here, but I'd expect FBI agents to be able to put that aside for the sake of a child," the Sergeant remarks, "so you all need to decide how you're going to proceed, and whether you're going to be of any use." His voice is grave and it sounds like the words pain him; it takes guts for a street cop to stand up to federal agents. His partner nods, which is embarrassing to say the least.

"Thank you officers," Gideon asserts, "you'll make sure the K-9 unit is sent out? And, I can't stress this enough, you must keep anything pertaining to the name 'Garcia' to yourself. Discussing it would be beyond a mistake." He still has the type of nature that you don't argue with and the state police take him for his word, both of them giving a concise nod.

Kelly smiles at them, she's seemingly the only one capable of cheerfulness. "I'm Agent Shane, the Communications Director. Do you mind if I come with you back to the Department?" she asks, knowing her usefulness at the house is very limited. "I'd like to check out the command post and get a press conference underway," she explains. There was strategy discussed on the jet and although most of it has gone out the window, she can at least stick to her part.

Seconds later the room has three less people in it, but it's still not enough. "One of you explain how and when the girl was taken," Hotch orders, pushing the past out of his mind and trying to concentrate on the task at hand. His dark suit is immaculate and his tie _just so_. Derek should be used to Hotch's perfection, but he's not.

Gideon suggests to Liam that he go feed the cat, and it's clear to everyone that he mostly wants the kid away from the volatile environment. Liam nods and Gideon reaches out to stroke his hair. Morgan thinks of those times that Gideon has been just as tender in the past, but this is different. It's quite easy to see that Gideon cherishes the little boy. As soon as Liam is gone Gideon's face sets into a serious expression, "he's shy and you'll have to win him over, but he's smart, and he saw what happened."

"What was it that he saw?" Reid asks.

It's the first time Gideon is able to look at Reid, and he looks pleased with what he sees. Morgan thinks that perhaps if the old profiler still worked in the BAU, he wouldn't introduce Reid as 'Doctor' anymore. "Liam and Bridget share a room and he woke to see a man picking Bridget up. The man told Liam to hide under his bed and not come out, and then left through the window with Bridget. The unsub used endearments and came across as sensitive rather than violent. Penelope, who you will call Pippin away from present company, woke up at seven thirty and fetched me from upstairs as soon as she discovered Bridget was missing," Gideon relays the information professionally, pretending for a moment that these aren't the children who look up to him as a grandfather.

"And _when_ was it?" Morgan glowers, clearly unhappy with such an important detail being missed out. He's looking at Garcia, and only Garcia, picking out the differences in her appearance and personality. She's more reserved now, no hint of bright red lipstick or a penchant for vibrant fuchsia dresses. "How many hours," he presses.

She shakes her head slightly, "I don't know, I didn't hear anything and Liam's can't tell time, so I don't know." Her reply is frenzied, not unlike other panicked mothers, and she looks as though she'd benefit from sitting down. _Don't be a jerk to a mom who's just had her kid snatched,_ Derek orders himself once he notices her heartbroken expression.

"He heard garage doors opening, birds, and based on those sounds and how he described the sky, I'd say five thirty at the earliest, six thirty at the latest. I've been up since seven and hadn't heard a thing," Gideon adds, "there's one other thing, the abductor took one of Bridie's toys with him, and he was very careful to make it her favourite. He asked Liam to point out which one." He has enough faith in the BAU agents so he doesn't elaborate and discuss how trophy items are very rarely chosen with such care.

That part is something Garcia obviously hasn't heard before, because she puts a hand to her mouth and tears spring from her eyes. "Which toy?" she manages to squeak out.

It's not Gideon who answers, but Liam. He trots into the room and puts his arms around his mother's legs. "Morgy the Lion, 'cause he's big and strong," the boy replies. Suddenly the room isn't so stuffy and expressions aren't as dark. If Bridget is under the protection of Morgy the Lion, maybe things aren't so bad after all.

. . . . .

Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, Chief of the BAU1, is solid and sturdy. He's the perfect balance of logic, passion, and bureaucracy, and he's learnt from the best. He sends Garcia off to another room with her son before addressing his agents (and Gideon who'd given him a warning look, one that said 'don't you dare exclude me').

He splits his agents up, considering their strengths and weaknesses. Gideon and Morgan are sent off to the command post together, which Aaron hopes won't end with any broken bones. Anderson and Langley are assigned to canvassing the closest neighbours in tandem with the local cops, while he and Reid study the scene and start on victimology. "The three hour window might not have closed yet and the unsub has demonstrated he is considerate and capable of sympathy. With luck we'll bring Bridget home alive and _that's_ where our focus needs to be," he reminds them, and himself.

He feels naked without his team. They leave and it's just him and Reid in the middle of Garcia's kitchen. "Let's go look at the bedroom," Hotch says, and that's what they do. The room is a mixture of fairies, space ships, knights, robots, and zoo animals. Each wall is painted a different colour and at first glance it looks like Garcia has slapped a cartoon decal on almost every single surface. None of the furniture matches, but the beds and the tables beside them are clearly set out for _girl_ and _boy_.

They spend some time combing over the room, looking over every detail of it. It's Reid who finds the photograph of two newborn babies tucked into the same plastic crib. "They're Halloween babies, what better birthday for Garcia's spawn?" Reid asks, pointing out the date. Hotch holds out his hand and Reid passes the silver frame over with slight hesitation. "They don't look too premature, which means Garcia must have been-"

Hotch holds up a hand, "-I know what it means, Reid," he says. That doesn't mean anyone needs to put a voice to it. When Garcia left on the 2nd of March, 2012, she was already pregnant. Hotch has realised this already because he's been counting back years and months since the moment he set eyes on Pippin Gardiner. "That's not our business right now. If you don't think you're going to get anything else from this room, I need you to check outside while I look at the rest of the house. Forensics will be here soon and I'd like you to look at the area before they trample over it."

Alone in the room, Hotch looks it over once more. He tries to imagine two children happily playing together, sleeping, their stuffed animals tucked under their arms. He wants to make Bridget's bed so it's perfectly tidy for her to come home to, but he knows better than to disturb a scene like that. The insistent flapping of the curtains is irritating, and so is not being able to do anything. They don't have much to go on yet and there's a little girl out there who is scared. He pauses as he realises the little boy in the TV room is also likely terrified.

Hotch is normally good at compartmentalizing but right now he can't help but to compare Liam to Jack. What would Jack want right now? His favourite toy, almost definitely. "Come on then, Mr. or Mrs. Giraffe, you've got a job to do," he announces and plucks the tattiest toy from the floor beside Liam's bed. The giraffe might have been yellow and orange once upon a time, but now it's just about grey all over. One ear is torn and a foot has a hole in it. Aaron recognizes it as well-loved.

When he makes it to the lounge room and presents the stuffed toy to Liam, Hotch goes down on his knees. "Hi Liam, I think I found someone in the bedroom who has been missing you," he says, and makes the giraffe dance around so its legs flail outwards and upwards and all around. "The giraffe won't even tell me if it's a boy or girl giraffe, not until it's safe with you," he adds, finally stopping the dance so Liam can grab the toy and clutch it to his chest.

"Professor Reads is a boy giraffe," Liam responds finally, "he gets scared sometimes."

Hotch nods as though he completely understands, "everyone gets scared sometimes," he agrees. Liam looks fragile as he clings to the giraffe and Hotch reminds himself to ask about that name another time. "Is Professor Reads scared right now?" he asks. Liam shakes his head so Hotch continues with, "so how _does_ Professor Reads feel this very moment?"

There is silence between them as Liam runs a finger up and down the giraffe's torn ear. Hotch isn't even sure that the boy is going to answer, perhaps too much has happened and now all Liam wants is to be left alone. "He's sad. He wants Bridie," the statement is tearful. Hotch fishes through his pocket and produces a handkerchief which he folds over his index finger.

He can feel the moisture seep through to his skin as he dabs away at Liam's tears. It feels natural, too natural, because this whole morning is completely extraordinary. "Sometimes when I'm sad it helps me to do my favourite thing. What does Professor Reads like doing?" Hotch asks, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"He likes reading. He's read every book ever, that's why he's so smart," Liam's reply makes Hotch's mouth break into a huge smile. _Morgy the Lion and Professor Reads the bookish giraffe_, he thinks. It's fast becoming apparent that Penelope Garcia hasn't completely forgotten the BAU.

"Then," Hotch remarks, "I think you should go read to your Professor, or get him to read to you." And that's that, Liam obediently takes off to the playroom.

Now it's just Hotch and Garcia. He looks at her and knows he should be picking out the things that have changed, because it's been four years and she even goes by a new name now, but he can't help seeing the things that are the same. Her eyes are still pained, which might just be the circumstances, but maybe not. She's wearing less make-up, though perhaps that's just because her morning routine has been disrupted.

"Aaron," she whispers, biting her lip.

"I'll work the case just as hard either way, but I just want to know," he swallows and ignores the fact that his tie feels too tight and it's too hot in this room, "are they mine?"

The look on her face and the slight bobbing of her head say it all. _Yes_, Liam is yours. _Yes_, Bridget is yours. _Yes_, your daughter has been abducted from her own bed. And finally, _yes_, I actually kept them from you. He can hear the forensics team pull up and that's a good excuse to leave the room, leave the house and go outside where the air doesn't taste like equal parts betrayal and regret.

. . . . .

The command post is just ten minutes south with the sirens, so Gideon knows there isn't much time to talk. Morgan's hands are on the steering wheel so there's less chance of bodily harm, unless he decides to go on and crash the both of them into some road obstacle. It's Gideon's best chance to explain himself, explain for Pip, and try to stop this whole thing from fucking up completely. He's been a leader once or twice in his time and he knows groups always work better when team members don't want to tear each others' throats out.

"Imagine my surprise when I went to my cabin in July one year, only to find it was occupied. I drove up and found gardens, _maintained_ gardens, and knew something was up right away. I went into the house, looked in each room, and lo and behold, Penelope is sobbing in a corner. She apologized for trespassing, although she was more concerned with begging me not to tell anyone. She wanted me to just let her collect her stuff and leave but I persuaded her to stay," the tone in his voice implies that wasn't an easy task.

Morgan snaps, and although he keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles go pale, "but you didn't manage to _persuade_ her into going home? Come on, you're Jason Gideon, you've cracked much harder cases than that."

Gideon shakes his head, "I didn't want to," he admits, "coming or going was her choice to make, like I made mine. She was a mess anyway and going back wouldn't have done her any good. Every night she woke up screaming and every day she would spend most of her time crying. She felt such guilt and fear for the rest of you and herself, so she couldn't return." He's not sure this talk is going to work the way he intended. The car rolls to a stop in a parking bay so there's not much time left at all. "She's still afraid, still constantly on alert whenever she's somewhere other than our home. However, right now she knows she isn't in immediate danger, and Bridget is."

"This isn't over," Morgan says as he exhales deeply. His fingers slide off the wheel and take the key out of the ignition. "I'm not just going to forgive and forget because you think you've explained well enough. However, I can do my job, and I can try to stop myself from getting angry at you if _you_ try not to rub me the wrong way." It's not a promise of peace, but it's at least a temporary truce.

"It's a deal," Gideon replies. He reaches for the door handle and gently tugs on it, "and I'll take my direction from you in there." He's been out of the field too long and he misses Bridget too much to operate without someone else above him.

. . . . .

Agent Kelly Shane is used to being looked at and talked to as if she's nobody important. She's young, early twenties, and 'doesn't have a right to be a weather girl, never mind orchestrating the media'. These types of cases are easy at the beginning because counties and states have their own plans already. AMBER alerts go out, reaching televisions, radios, mobile phones, electric bulletin boards, and many other mediums.

_Bridget Gardiner, white female, four years, 31 pounds, 3'2", brown hair, brown eyes, wearing pink pyjamas, abducted from her home early morning by a white male, dark hair, average build, approx 6' tall._ The alert is sent out in short hand, distributed as soon as possible, and it's already on the radio by the time Agent Kelly reaches the command post. Press conferences are the next task, and with one scheduled for 8:30, she hopes the other agents start ringing in their information soon.

She's made a preliminary list of talking points and her next task is organizing. She claims a conference room as the BAU's own and gets the whiteboards, the maps, and the stationary. Having everything ready for the team will help speed up the process later. She does the sorting, the liaising, the bureaucratic bullshit, and sets up the initial structure so there's less to stumble over later. Agent Kelly is _damn _good at her job and won't let people think otherwise.

The CARD team is still stuck in traffic but they're just a phone call away, so she makes sure they stay in the loop and asks for their advice. As always, Agent Kelly is determined that no one is going to feel shut out of this investigation. She pins photographs of Bridget all around the call centre. They've been run off from a shoddy printer and the quality isn't that great, but hopefully the volunteers will be reminded of why they're there.

"Has there been anything?" she asks the officer in charge. He responds with a spiel about it's 'early yet' and 'word needs to get out', which basically amounts to _nothing_. New volunteers are trickling through to the room so hopefully they'll have all the phones manned when things _do_ start getting busy. Kelly gives a gracious smile and walks away.

. . . . .

A child goes missing in the United States every 40 seconds. Of those missing children, the vast majority are family abductions, lost children, runaways, or throwaways. There are around 4400 cases a year where the abductor is a stranger, and around 200 of these are stereotypical abductions where the intent is to murder, keep, or hold a child for ransom. Abducted children in such cases will probably be female, have a nearly 50% chance of being sexually abused, and 2/5 will be killed.

Spencer Reid knows his statistics and timelines. He knows that if Bridget is going to be killed by her abductor there is a 75% she is already dead and an 88% chance she will be dead within 24 hours. He knows these statistics and is burdened by them, but the numbers help him think. Garcia's property is one of those white picket fence homes with a simple but healthy front garden and a backyard that's overrun with toys. There are traces of Gideon too, in the many bird houses and baths scattered throughout the yard, but Reid assumes the orderly wrap-around balcony is Gideon's alone.

He takes his time examining the surrounds of the house and comes to realise about half-way through that he's treating this home like any other victim's. It's easy to do because he hasn't known Garcia for years now, and she'd lived in an apartment building when Reid knew her. This place is mostly all Pip, and Pip is a single mother with two young children. She doesn't entertain outdoors and has worked to make sure her place is absolutely ordinary from the street view.

A postal worker walks past and drops a few envelopes off, so Spencer minces towards the mailbox. Gas company, water company, and a hand-written note. "Wait!" he calls after the mail man, "did you drop this note off?"

"No sir," the mail man replies, and hurries on his way.

Reid is glad he hasn't taken his gloves off, glad he's holding a hand-written note, glad there's some kind of contact. He jogs quickly towards Hotch, who is standing with the newly arrived forensics team. "There's a note. He left a note," Reid says, and positions himself so he and Hotch can both pour over the note at the same time.

_I'm taking her back because I love her __more__._

_You shouldn't worry. She __needed__ me and it's_

_going to be O.K. now. I will take care of her._

They bow their heads and examine the words and the way the letters are formed. "The slant indicates he's very emotionally charged, and the irregular baseline indicates he is unstable. The crossing of his t's implies he has low self-esteem and, coupled with the curvature, this isn't the kind of guy who wants to be noticed," Reid analyses.

"He's passionate and trying to reassure Pip, and there's an aspect of caring. He references a 'her' and 'she', but doesn't use names," Hotch notes. Hotch saying 'Pip' reminds Reid that he should be doing the same, and he wonders whether the others have remembered all on their own.

He nods and flips the note over, checking to see if there are any identifiers. It's written on plain white printer paper that has been neatly cut in half with scissors. "Yes," Reid agrees, "and this note was prepared _before_ the abduction, but it says 'needed', not 'needs'. The unsub might even be referencing something from his past." It's possible, especially if the guy is emotionally driven, yet unstable and passionate, "and he's quantifying love, _comparing_ it. He views himself more capable of looking after Bridget than her own mother."

"Good job," Hotch says, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Bag it and go fetch the Gardiners. We need to regroup at the command post," he states. He flips his phone out of his pocket before he's even finished the sentence.

. . . . .

"You know," Reid begins as he looks Garcia square in the eye, "I didn't notice it before, but Liam looks a lot like Jack did at that age." It's the most polite way he knows how to ask, or infer. There's no way he can ignore the similarities between Liam Gardiner and Jack Hotchner, even if that makes him nosy. Garcia has already given him years of the silent treatment and Reid doesn't think she can top that punishment.

Garcia freezes for a moment and looks at Liam, who is dutifully packing some toys and books into his backpack. She can't lie, not to Reid, and her reservations about dishonesty go beyond the fact that he can easily pick apart a lie with his amazing profiler superpowers. "He does, doesn't he," she agrees, "but my children aren't why I left."

The walls of this home and bare and sparse. Although there are photographs of the children, there's nothing else to mark the abode as Garcia's. Her life is dedicated to her children and she has very few friends, if she has any at all. "I want to ask so many things," Reid tells her, "can you promise me you won't disappear again before you can answer them?"

She had thought about what would happen if she was ever found. Pip has created different scenarios in her head, from a chance meeting in a shopping mall, to one of her old friends hiring the best private investigator in the States. None of those scenarios prepared her for how hurt Spencer Reid would look. "I'm sorry I chose this, but being Pip is about hiding from Peter Reynolds, not abandoning everyone," she says softly, "I just wasn't strong enough to live in fear."

"That wasn't an answer," he observes.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favourite, or placed my story on alert. It's great to know that there are people out there who are enjoying this. I'm sorry if Hotch being the father isn't to your liking, but there's still a great deal more of this story to be told and hopefully you'll stick around for it. I've written a few chapters ahead, which has allowed me to update quickly. I hope that I'll be able to get other chapters out just as fast!_


	3. Lonely People

**FOUND**

Chapter Three

_Lonely People_

_

* * *

_

"You know, Prentiss, the _R_ in CARD actually stands for 'rapid'," Derek Morgan calls out as soon as he sees his old colleague get out of her car. It's shiny and new, obviously a fleet vehicle. The lights would have given it away even if it hadn't been in a cavalcade. Three vehicles carrying seven agents, the Crimes Against Children Unit are ready to get down to business.

Emily shakes her head, bemused, and raises her eyebrows. "Child Abduction _Rapid_ Deployment team, yes, I believe I'm aware," she replies. "We got stuck in traffic. Lots of it." She's been involved with the CACU for a year, unit chief for the past eight months, and the position suits her well. Her pantsuit is black and fitted, but the blouse is less casual than the ones she used to wear around the BAU.

"Everyone's waiting in a conference room," Morgan says, "Kelly sent me down to welcome you and send your team on ahead. I suppose she thinks you ought to be filled in on a few things before you enter upstairs."

Ten years in the same team with him apparently did Emily some good when it came to reading Morgan's thoughts. She waves her team off and doesn't miss the way Derek's stance relaxes just a little as the CARD team go on ahead. "What is it you don't want to discuss in front of them?" Emily asks, one hand sliding up to her hip and resting there as she listens to the answer.

Morgan runs a hand over his smooth bald head, knowing he may as well come right out with it. Emily Prentiss is good at prioritizing and keeping herself removed from a situation. It's the reason why she was headhunted by the CACU for unit chief. _Just tell her_, he thinks to himself. "Bridget Gardiner's mom, Pip, is actually Penelope Garcia. _Our_ Garcia. She's been in Alexandria hanging out with Gideon the whole time," Morgan knows he's missing out a few things but that's basically all he knows.

"_Wow_," Emily says, drawing out the vowel, "well have I got a few more questions for _her_, then."

"Don't we all?" Morgan replies, then gestures towards the door. "Briefing first though, right?"

. . . . .

It's been years since Garcia saw the inside of a precinct. Now that she's here, she's struck by the thought that this one in particular resembles an ant colony. People are scuttling to and fro, mincing around the numerous desks and chairs. There are snatches of paperwork scattered around, some in disarray and others in neat little piles. In a way it resembles the old bullpen that agents were always shunted into before they'd earned an office.

Penelope trails behind Hotch and Reid with Liam's little backpack hooked awkwardly on one shoulder while she leads him by his hand. It feels like all of the eyes in the room are staring at her, which is kind of understandable. She gets it, she's_ the mother_, but the walk wouldn't be so difficult if she didn't feel like she was being judged. _You let Bridie get kidnapped and didn't even notice_, she thinks guiltily, _of course they're judging_.

Her grip on Liam's hand is tighter than usual but he doesn't seem to mind. She gives it a soft squeeze and listens half-heartedly to numerous introductions. There are detectives and deputy chiefs, but she can't be bothered learning all of their names just yet. "I'm Pippin Gardiner, and this is Liam," she tells them when it's her turn. They all look at her with pity but she can't decide whether it's because they're sympathetic, or she looks so dishevelled and miserable. Perhaps it's both.

They're shuffled along and herded to one of the larger conference rooms and Penelope is about to enter too until she feels a hand on her elbow. She looks around, surprised to see one of the plainclothes police women reaching out. "We've got a break room all decked out for you and the little guy, if you'll come with me?" The detective stands there in her ironed clothes with a polite smile on her face and all Garcia can think is that she looks _fake_.

The room they come to is small, but big enough for a few bits of nondescript looking furniture. A kitchenette occupies one of the walls and a couch is lined up along another. It's plain, grey, and has a smattering of different stains, but Garcia figures it's pretty much going to be her home until Bridget is found. She shakes her head at the offer of coffee and tentatively perches on the couch. "A three year old and highlighters? That's just begging for vandalism," she comments, gesturing towards a collection of materials that Liam has already pounced upon.

"Brightening up this room wouldn't be such a bad thing," the detective replies with a small grin, "that FBI girl made sure it got done. There's also got a phone if you'd like to call any friends or family. If there's someone who could come and keep you company, or perhaps babysit your son."

Garcia shakes her head, trying to think of the correct response. There doesn't seem to be a right one, so instead she opts for the truth. "I don't have many of those," she admits quietly, "and I'd prefer for Liam to stay with me."

"That's fine, ma'am," the detective replies, giving her a sad look. Pip Gardiner only has mild acquaintances, though she gets along with most people. It always seemed traitorous to get close to people when she wasn't being honest about who she was. "Now, ah, I'm not sure what other people have got you to do, but would you mind making a few lists for us? One for places you've been to in the past month or so, and another of anyone you've come in contact with. Even if a detail seems insignificant, it might help."

Penelope nods and reaches out for a scrap piece of paper and one of Liam's highlighters.

. . . . .

They don't have much of a profile yet, but each of the BAU members shares what they have so far with the CACU agents. Reid and Hotch volunteer their observations about the Gardiner family and Gideon adds whatever information he thinks might be helpful. "I live upstairs but just arrived home from a two week stay in Chicago just yesterday. Pip takes the kids to a playgroup every second Wednesday, but otherwise she keeps mostly to herself. She shops locally, takes Liam and Bridget to the park, and is a very dedicated mother," he tells them, then launches into the morning's events.

Reid produces the note and passes it around the room while the agents talk about its significance. Soon the discussion extends to a preliminary profile and the agents are debating motive, but it's interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Emily reaches out and presses the speaker button, "everyone is all ears," she says.

"Ma'am, I got patched through to you 'cause my partner and I are down at Waterfront Park standing in front of a girl's body. She matches the AMBER that went out a half hour ago, 'cept for the clothes," the voice on the other end of the line sounds strained and distressed.

The tension within the room increases tenfold and no one looks happy. However, it's Gideon who leans closer to the phone and barks out, "does she have freckles, two of them, on the back of her left hand, or recent scrapes on both of her knees?"

"I'm checking, sir," the voice replies hastily, "no freckles. Ah, no, no scrape on her right knee, or her left."

Gideon flattens his hand on the table next to the phone, spreading his fingers out in relief. "Then I don't think it's Bridie, but I want you or your partner to take a clear photo of her face right now and send it along to-" he clicks his fingers at one of the agents who has their PDA sitting on the long table. The number is read out twice to the beat cop and it's only moments before the PDA gives off some telltale beeps.

"It's not the same girl," the CARD agent announces, and passes her phone to Gideon for confirmation, "though probably the same unsub."

Hotch leans across and looks at the PDA's screen for himself, and though he's mollified somewhat because it's not Bridget Gardiner who's been left in a local park, it's still a dead little girl and he can't be completely relieved. "I need four of us there right now," he tells all of the agents in the room. "Jason, are you alright to go?"

"Absolutely," he replies, standing up and grabbing the coat he'd tossed over the back of his chair.

Emily stands up too and gestures towards two of her agents. Past and present members of the BAU know that Reid will be most useful in front of a map, and Hotch needs to exude his authority all over the precinct so the investigation can be orderly. Morgan gives his head a small shake, "I'm going to stick around and talk with the Gardiners, see if they've remembered anything new."

. . . . .

The four of them, Gideon, Emily, Helen, and Mike, file into one of the CACU cars and rush down Duke Street with the sirens blaring. They manage to make it to the scene within seven minutes, which seems impressive for 8:30am. There are a couple of patrol cars in the parking lot, two motorcycles, and no vans yet but that's a good thing. It means there's less chance of the scene having been disturbed.

Emily only worked with Gideon for a year, which was long enough to learn a lot from him, but too far back for her to remember how impolite he is. _Direct_ might be a better adjective, but whichever one she decides on, it's a term to describe how he completely ignores the cops and heads straight for the body. She understands the appeal in that, but that's not how she handles things and she introduces herself and her agents to the first responders.

The backstory is short, though not necessarily sweet. Emily learns that an elderly couple noticed the little girl laying in a flower bed, "they thought she was ruining it, crumpling the flowers, you know, and they couldn't see any parents around," one of the cops states. Emily recognizes that voice from the phone and she feels sorry for the guy, he's young and probably hasn't come across something like this before. "They're right over there, we thought it'd be best for them to sit down," he adds, pointing to a park bench close by.

Emily sends off her agents to go talk with the couple and it's only then, after she's made sure everyone knows their task, that she walks to where Gideon is bent over a flowerbed. The little girl and Bridget Gardiner are part of a type. Although that was obvious in the original grainy cell phone picture, it's even more obvious now. The girl is around Bridget's age, maybe older, but there's similarity in the facial structure and colouring.

For a moment the unfamiliar girl's face becomes Bridget's in Emily's mind (as if she wasn't already motivated enough to get this case solved, and solved _now)_. Prentiss has seen photographs of Bridget and she's one of those beautiful little girls with a beaming smile and innocence in her eyes. The girl in the flowerbed has an air of innocence too. It's staged and forced, but still there.

"Hands are resting on her chest, hugging the doll close. Her legs are crossed, she's tidy, _clean_, and placed rather than dumped, but we are likely to find evidence of molestation," Gideon says, musing aloud. Emily can see such things for herself. It's impossible to miss that the girl has been posed, and it's probably because there's remorse. However, it's the clothes and accessories that really strike Emily as odd.

"I haven't seen a dress like that this side of the eighties, early nineties at the latest," she remarks dryly, staring at the frilly monstrosity. It's mostly bright purple with pink polkadots, proof that not all fashion is timeless. If she focuses on small details it's easier to ignore the big picture, that she is examining the corpse of a child who could easily be the daughter of a friend. _Ex-friend. Friend_. _Focus on the scene, Emily_, she reprimands herself.

Gideon nods and rises up from the ground, batting soil from his knees. "Crime scene folks are here," he notes and takes a few steps backwards so they can take the necessary pictures. "This site is accessible and public, but set back from the footpath. Our unsub wanted the body to be found quickly but not immediately," he frowns and looks around at the pathways that thread through the expanse of lawn. Prentiss recognizes his concern and she knows that it's warranted.

"He's expressing a great deal of remorse," she replies, "and although he's emotional, this isn't spur of the moment."

Emily tucks her hair behind her ear and watches on as photographs and video footage are taken. The police from Alexandria's investigation bureau are fast and efficient but Emily knows it's best to keep out of their way during their initial inspection. It gives her time to properly look at the park, which is oddly open for a dump site. She takes note of the differences between this park and the ones they passed on the way. "He could have easily gone to a less isolated place, or more public, but he chose here," she observes.

"Look around," Gideon says, waving a hand at their surroundings. "There are trees, birds, flowers, the Potomac. He wasn't trying to make a statement, he just sought out a peaceful resting place, a disposal site." Emily hadn't really noticed it before, being too concerned about the body to properly inspect the area, but Gideon is right. There's a tranquil air about this place, with a gentle breeze rolling off the river to gently brush past the trees.

"He cared for that girl and hopefully he'll care about Bridget enough to keep her alive until we can find her," Emily replies with a hint of optimism. She points across the small stretch of grass to the parking lot, where a white van has just arrived. "Coroner," she remarks, "time to find out more."

. . . . .

The table meeting is adjourned while Prentiss and Gideon check out the crime scene. Kelly has already excused herself so she can put a hold on the press conference, and Derek figures he should start making himself useful. "Come on, kid," he says, using the nickname that he'll never let Reid grow out of. Not even now, when he's thirty years old and no longer the most inexperienced person on the team. "Let's go talk with Gar- the Gardiners," he suggests, correcting himself at the last minute.

Reid excuses himself from the discussion he's having with one of the CACU agents and stands up, reluctance showing in his face and mannerisms, "do you think we'll get much more from them than Gideon?"

Morgan has to hand it to the guy, he's handling the appearance of his old mentor rather well. He shrugs and picks up his notepad, "Gideon is incredibly close to the situation, he might have missed something, and they've had time to think things through. You can make friends with your map once we know where the Gardiners have been."

There's logic and reason in that, right? It's not just that he simply doesn't want to do this interview alone. Even so, it's a good idea to have Reid around to have someone else _there_ and the younger man doesn't give any more protests. They find the break room easily and Derek enters the room first. He doesn't say anything as he sets himself against the wall.

Now that he's had some time to get used to the idea of his old best friend being around, he realises that it's not just her hair and fashion sense that has changed. She's less frivolous, less open, and it kind of sucks. He wouldn't have believed she could ever stop being vibrant and noticeable, but perhaps it's just been a slow decline since Kevin died and Morgan just wasn't around to see.

Liam looks up from his drawing for a few seconds and ducks his head back down, but Garcia is _staring _at them with a look of uncertainty on her face. She catches herself and blushes, then hurries to stir the coffee she's making. "Want a cup?" she asks, moving to grab two more mugs before either of them reply, "black and mostly sugar, the other white with one?"

"I take mine black now," Morgan replies, "but good memory."

The room is run of the mill cop shop, though Derek figures it's better than waiting at home alone. Once the drinks are fixed Reid moves to help carry them to the coffee table. "It's not _mostly_ sugar. There's just a lot of it," he smiles impishly as he sets them down. He's careful to put the hot cups in a place where they won't interfere with Liam's artistic pursuits. "That's a pretty cool drawing," he comments.

There are a few moments of awkward silence and it's Garcia who breaks it. "Liam is fantastic at drawing," she says, "Liam, these two men are Mummy's friends who she hasn't seen in a long time. They're both very nice, do you want to meet them?"

He shakes his head and continues with his drawing, which causes Garcia to frown. _He'll come around_, Morgan thinks, _and we can hold off on the recall until he does_. "It's okay, we can wait until Liam finishes up. He's probably scared of me because I was so upset this morning, but that was because I was very surprised," he says it loud enough for Liam to hear and he hopes that the boy will warm up to him after they've shared the same space for a while.

"Probably," Penelope replies, "I don't think he's ever been quite so close to someone who's yelling before." It's impossible to tell what she means by her statement, it's neither accusatory nor forgiving. She pinches the fabric of her dress and sweeps it out as she sits down.

"I'll have to make sure I say sorry to him then," Morgan comments as he drags one of the rickety chairs from the table. Because Liam is kneeling on the ground there's enough room on the couch for the three adults, but it doesn't seem right to squash together like that. Morgan would have once revelled in the chance to sidle up next to Garcia and throw an arm around her, but he can't revert back to that so quickly. "I know you've probably been asked a million questions today already, but we need to ask some more so we can figure out why this guy targeted your family," he tells her once they're all seated.

"Ask away," she responds. The corners of her lips turn slightly upwards in a rather poor attempt to smile. They know that somehow her time as the BAU's technical analyst has prepared her for this. Other mothers would be sobbing and inconsolable at this point but she's managing to focus.

"Can you tell us about your typical day? Like what you do, when you leave the house, who you speak to?" Reid prompts. He's trying to be all business, which is probably the best way to get around this. They've been taught, each of them, that it's dangerous to let your mind wander from the job at hand. By the same token, they shouldn't be involved in cases that are too close to home. However, the BAU are collectively the best profilers in the country and there's no one more qualified to work this case as long as they can keep their feelings in check.

Penelope takes a sip of her coffee, her fingers spreading out over the outside of the cup and cradling it protectively. "I don't have a regular job. I mean, I do freelance web design sometimes, but it's Jason who financially supports us. He says I'll pay him back one day, and he likes the company," she looks at the deep brown liquid rather than at either of the profilers as she begins to talk about her life.

The picture she paints seems completely normal enough for a suburban stay at home mom, until Derek realises the only name she ever mentions is _Jason_. "I noticed there wasn't anything in your home to indicate you have links with anyone else, but are there any other people in your life? Friends maybe? Or are you alone?" Reid asks. If Morgan were any closer to him he may have tried to jostle Reid with his elbow. As it is, he settles for a firm glare.

Penelope shakes her head, "it feels wrong," she states. She ducks her head a little, causing hair to form a curtain over her face. "It's kind of dishonest to befriend people when I'm lying about who I am," she explains. A soft _clunk_ resonates through the room as she places her empty mug down on the table, "I'm friendly to people, but not friends _with_ them, if that makes any sense."

"It doesn't, really," Reid remarks, furrowing his brow, "not unless you went missing to punish yourself, rather than start a new life." He doesn't mean for it to be vindictive, it's not in his nature, but he doesn't seem to have properly considered how his words are out of place. They're treading a line here between too familiar and too distant, which seems to be making interactions harder.

Derek notices the injured look on Garcia's face and his dormant protective feelings towards her start to stir. Despite being angry at the woman, Derek loves Penelope just as much as he did when she left and he believes she's already hurting enough. "Hey, Doctor Reid with the four PHDs and fancy memory, I don't suppose you have the Webster definition of 'tact' memorised?" he interjects. Morgan reaches out to clasp his hands around one of Penelope's, "forgive him, baby girl. The more he learns in academia, the less he remembers about real life interactions." His tone is joking and warm and, for the first time since setting eyes on Garcia an hour ago, he smiles.

"Sorry," Reid says, giving her an apologetic look. He is amazed by Morgan's quick turn, but then he remembers how lost Morgan was when Garcia left. Her disappearance had been hard on all of the team, but it had probably changed Derek the most. "I'm just getting used to this, to you, and trying my best to help," Reid states. He gives her a small smile and it can't measure up to Derek's broad hopeful one, but it's a start.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Once again, thank you for reading (especially to those lovely people who left reviews). Before a chapter is posted it gets edited at least five times, so I have endless gratitude for the compliments and feedback._

_As Aivee and celticstarwolf both pointed out, we're yet to see some of the team. Fear not, they will all appear in some way or another. While planning this fic I decided that it would be unreasonable to have the whole team together in 2016. As much as I love our amazing seven, I think it would be a bit stagnant for them if nothing had changed over six years. I hope people are pleased with Emily's new position and are looking forward to finding out what everyone has been up to!_


	4. Wish You Were Here

**FOUND**

Chapter Four

_Wish You Were Here  
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Penelope has quickly come to hate the break room. Although the blinds are drawn there are still tiny gaps which she feels people are peering into. It doesn't make much sense, but it's like she's sitting in an aquarium for everyone else's amusement. Reid and Morgan left her alone a few minutes ago and she feels lonelier now than she has been for years. "Liam, you answered their questions so well, and I'm really proud of you," she says, sliding down onto the floor so she can help him colour.

Liam looks up and gives her a small smile, "do you think I helped, Mommy?"

"Of course you did, sweetling," she replies, "every little bit you remember about this morning will help the good guys to find Bridie." She plucks yellow and orange out of the pile of highlighters and begins to colour in the sun with them.

"Are they really the good guys, Mommy?" he asks, pushing out his lower lip as he concentrates on drawing a head. Any other person might think Liam is drawing a blob on top of another blob, but Penelope knows it's a person. "Will they get Bridie for us?"

He looks so sweet and hopeful that Garcia can't bring herself to destroy it with doubts. "They're going to try very hard, Liam, and they're the _best_ good guys in the whole wide world," she says, gently rubbing his back for reassurance, "that's why we shouldn't be scared, okay?"

"Okay Mommy," he agrees. Liam's face is absolutely serious and his long eyelashes make him seem so delicate and fragile. Penelope looks at his little nose and the soft curves of his face and she knows they have to find Bridget. She loves Liam dearly, loves Bridget just the same, and she doesn't know what she would do without either of them.

She turns away so he can't see her wipe away the tears that are welling up in her eyes. Suddenly the door begins to open and Penelope jumps to her feet in case there's news, in case Bridget has been found and it's time to spring into action.

It's just one of the female agents who came to the house this morning.

"Hi, I can't recall whether I introduced myself to you earlier, but I'm Kelly and I handle the press on behalf of the team these days," she states, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her. She has a beautifully thick head of red coloured hair, the kind that Penelope would have coveted once upon a time. "We've organized for a conference in ten minutes and I'd really like to go through some of the talking points with you."

Penelope's heart stops and her mouth goes dry. "Talking points, like you want me in front of the camera?" she clarifies, hoping it's a misunderstanding.

Kelly nods and offers Penelope a piece of paper, "I know the idea is intimidating, but it'll really help Bridget. The man who took her, the unsub, reached out to make contact with you when he wrote you that note. He has a preoccupation with love, so it needs to be you who talks about Bridget if we're going to reach him. That's what the profile says, and you should trust these guys."

"I trust them, I really do, but my face can't be in the news. I don't know what they've told you, but there's someone dangerous out there who wants to find me," she talks in a low voice and steps away from Liam so he can't hear, "please, I _can't_ be seen."

"Ms. Gardiner, if you're worried about someone we can offer you full protection, the Marshall Service if need be, but having you communicate with this unsub is our best chance at ensuring that Bridget doesn't come to harm. The first hours are the most important and we have to as effective as possible, which includes getting you to communicate to him, as he did to you through that note," Kelly explains. Some of her hair has fallen out of her strict pony-tail and over her face, but it doesn't distract from her intense gaze.

"I need to have her back, but after that I need my children to be safe and they won't be if Peter Reynolds knows they exist," her words are a little more measured, a little less transparent than they would be if she was speaking with one of her old friends. She reaches out to take the piece of paper but can't summon up the courage to take it.

"Ms. Gardiner, I don't know who Peter Reynolds is. What I know is my team, and you knew them once too. Let me assure you that they are just as passionate, just as thorough, and just as committed as they were when you worked with them," Kelly Shane's expression is absolutely serious, "you should have more faith in them."

Penelope resolutely shakes her head and watches as Kelly turns on her heel and leaves the room. She is only protecting everyone from harm. It's necessary and Penelope wishes people would understand that. _Gideon can do it, or Agent Shane. They'll be just as effective_, she tells herself. She's frightened that no one will understand how much she wants Bridget returned and afterwards, once the police and agents have left, she wants her children to remain _safe_.

. . . . .

The minutes pass as a more thorough profile is made and agents from both the CACU and BAU narrow down names on the list of sex offenders. Anderson phones in that two different people from the next street over have noticed an unfamiliar white Hyundai Elantra parked in their cul-de-sac intermittently over the past three days, and a shift worker saw the same model car leaving Cameron Mills Road at around 6:10am. The car is included in the briefing they give to the law enforcement.

Kelly sidles up next to her superior and waits for an opportunity to talk quietly with him. "Hotch, Ms. Gardiner is refusing to do the conference. She claims it will put people in danger of a Peter Reynolds," she says softly when everyone's attention is focused on Reid.

Hotch inclines his head, giving the slightest nod, and steps outside the room with Kelly. "It's a delicate situation," he explains, "but she'll be there. Give me the list of talking points and make sure the press is assembled outside."

"Hotch, it's scheduled to start in _five_ minutes. We've already bumped it back this morning and we can't afford to wait," Kelly reminds him, "it might be more useful to recall Mr. Gideon from the dump site and have him address the press."

He plucks the paper from her hand, holding it neatly in his own, "I'll have her there in two. Meet us downstairs."

. . . . .

"I want my Mommy. I want Papa Giddy," little Bridget's voice is high pitched and her words are squeezed out between sniffles. "I don't like you. I wanna go home," she adds in a whine. Her large brown eyes look at her abductor imploringly as her bottom lip quivers. She considers screaming again but she's already done that and no one came to help.

The man called Sam shakes his head. "I'm your family," he tells Bridget gently, reaching into his pocket and presenting her with a handful of sweets. "I love you, Katie. I'm going to take care of you and we'll be happy together. I won't let you get hurt again," he tells her.

"I'm not Katie," she whimpers. Bridget takes a step backwards, despite being interested in the brightly-wrapped sweets. She hasn't eaten since dinner last night and she's kind of hungry, but she only wants Papa's pancakes or toast that Mommy has made and cut into quarters. She doesn't want to be here with this man in his strange little house. Instead of Papa's pictures of birds and smiling strangers, photos of a girl who looks just like Bridget are scattered everywhere.

Sam gives her a concerned frown and studies her little face. He just knows that he can get her to trust him again, and then they can talk and play like they used to. "It's okay, you're Katie and I'm going to take care of you, remember? You _have_ to be Katie. Only Katie gets to have sweets, or play with her toys, or watch cartoons," he explains patiently. He turns around and picks up a little black box from beside the TV. "Come on," he says, "come watch Care Bears with me, they're your favourite."

Bridget doesn't know what Care Bears are, but a little song starts up and talking animals and rainbows start sliding across the screen, so she sits. "I want Mommy," she whispers dejectedly as she rubs her eyes. The bears on the television are very friendly and should make her smile, but Bridget just feels sad. She doesn't like it here.

. . . . .

He hasn't been alone with Penelope since he'd asked whether the children were his. In truth, he's been avoiding such a situation. It had been reasonably easy to do that in the car because she was in the back seat talking with Liam, he was in the front with Reid, and the radio had been on. Penelope had kept her eyes on Liam the entire way to the precinct, which allowed Hotch to sneak subtle glances of them in the rear-view mirror.

Hotch waits for Kelly to leave before moving towards the door. He hesitates for just a fraction of a second, and then swings it open. Profiling is a peculiar profession; you make your living by reading people and predicting their responses. Aaron is well aware of the fact that there are many suitable approaches to the conversation he's about to have, but if you factor in time it seems there is only one. Liam is wearing headphones and has his eyes glued to the TV. Hotch gives him a reserved smile and a little wave, but it seems the rabble of strange dancing creatures is so enthralling that Liam hasn't even noticed the new arrival.

"I thought it would be Jason sent in to talk to me," Penelope admits, looking up from her phone. She clearly doesn't know what else to say, but the turmoil she's experiencing is apparent. Hotch is silent for a few moments, hoping she'll come to her senses before he has to speak. Her hand nervously reaches to tuck hair behind her ears. "Aaron, I'm so sorry," she tells him, the words coming out in a flood, "I didn't know I was pregnant when I left. When I did found out I was too busy trying to cope with the idea myself, and then I just thought it would be less painful for everyone if I just stayed away."

The honesty in her explanation half-satisfies him, however it's not what Hotch came in here for. It would take more than two minutes to go through the events of the past five years, and they just don't have that kind of time. "We'll discuss that later," he states, "right now you need to know why it's me who's in this room and not Jason."

Hotch heads towards the four-seater table to sit down and crooks his finger, gesturing for her to join him. Dub him too cautious, but Hotch knows sometimes headphones don't completely muffle outside noises, and he doesn't want Liam listening. Penelope joins him, sitting in the chair farthest away, "okay," she says quietly. This close to her he can see some fine wrinkles that weren't there before, and notices that her hair falls well past her shoulders, it's longer than she's ever worn it before.

"Jason is at a nearby park, looking at a disposal site where someone left a four year old girl. She's not Bridget, but she's the exact same type. It means this unsub will kill, and though we don't know when the deadline is, we know it's there," his tone is cold, hard, and factual. He places the page of talking points before him and moves it to the middle of the table, though his intense gaze never leaves Penelope's face. "Our best chance of delaying Bridget's death is _you_ talking to this unsub, so you're going to do it."

She rigidly sits back in her chair. "I can't, Reynolds-" she begins.

"I appreciate that you're scared of Reynolds and you have reason to be, but you're protected from him. The unsub has watched you and the children, he needs to see and listen to _you_. We can't just put someone else out there and hope it has the same effect. It has to be you," Hotch's face is stern and unmoveable. She has only ever seen his side of him from a distance. This is the big name prosecutor, the impassioned profiler, and Garcia knows she's going to be on the losing end.

That doesn't stop her from trying, "Peter Reynolds killed Kevin because of me. He stabbed Kevin five times, and each time he did it he twisted the knife, _literally_ twisted it. While Kevin was screaming and bleeding out, Reynolds promised he'd let me call an ambulance if I admitted I'd never loved Kevin, and it would only ever be _him_," Garcia takes a shaky breath, "so I won't let him find me, I won't let him do that to my children or the people I love again."

She's crying, her nose is running, and she looks like an absolute mess, but Hotch won't be shaken. "We'll take measures against Reynolds. He won't get into this station, he won't get into your home, and you can relocate once this is over," Hotch means what he says, although he knows those assurances are less powerful than Penelope's fear of her ex-boyfriend's murderer. "However, there's a man out there who has Bridget. You've made every decision in her life so far, and I'm making this one. You're doing the press conference because I want our daughter to stay alive long enough for me to meet her."

It's a low blow, but necessary, and the sentiment behind it is genuine. For most of his life Hotch was determined he didn't want to be a parent. His objection stemmed from a childhood spent anticipating the next time his father would strike out at him, or his mother, or Sean. Over time Haley had convinced him that he could never be that kind of father, and by the time Jack arrived Hotch most certainly believed it. He could never hurt Jack, and now he can't allow Bridget to have anything less than the best chance at being saved. He wants to get to know his daughter. Her favourite colour, her favourite animal, her favourite nursery rhyme, these are all things Hotch wants to find out from the girl herself.

Garcia's demeanour shifts from defensive to resigned, and Hotch knows his words have done their job. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a tissue which she uses to scrub at her face. "What do I say?" she asks afterwards, biting her lower lip. Her face is set into a grimace and Hotch doesn't know whether it's at him, herself, or the entire situation.

He slides the talking points closer to her, "I'll run you through it while we go downstairs, we're scheduled to air across networks at 9:00, so we need to be down there now." He stands and walks towards the door, which gives the perfect vantage point as she detracts Liam from the show (which now features a grown man wearing bright orange spandex). The last thing Hotch says before leading Penelope and his son out of the room is, "Penelope, thank you." Never let it be said that Aaron Hotchner doesn't show gratitude when it's needed.

. . . . .

Anderson had put in the hard yards for many years before being selected to join the BAU's profiling team. He had been in the FBI since graduating college and was assigned to the BAU for over a decade until he'd trained up enough to become a profiler. After that it had been a long wait for the position, as for some reason the team didn't have a very high turnover. After he'd joined their ranks it took just one jet ride for Anderson to figure out why the profilers rarely quit. It was all to do with loyalty.

Once you've earned the rest of the team's trust and respect, you're good to go. Unfortunately, Anderson is pretty sure that Langley won't make it that far. They walk away from the last house on the street, satisfied that they've found out all they can for now. That means they're free to go back to the command post and meet up with the team for the next step of the investigation. What it doesn't mean is that it's time for Langley to start interrogating Anderson about things which aren't any of their business.

"So, tell me again about this woman," Langley asks, batting her eyelashes and feigning innocence of the fact that she's just a busybody. "Why did she leave?" she clarifies. For all that she's dressed professionally, Anderson is convinced she's no better than a gossiping teenager. He much preferred the agent before Langley, but a gunshot quickly put an end to _that_ happy union. Special Agent Powell is now safely nestled in the white collar unit and the team is stuck with Langley.

Anderson squares his shoulders and forces himself not to sigh, "I wasn't on the team then, wasn't close to anyone, I was only an acquaintance. All I know is what I've told you already. Garcia was the team's technical analyst, she'd been dating a guy for a few years and he was murdered while she was in the room. Almost a year after that she split. The team looked for her but she was never found, and now we're all here." His hands go to his tie, like they always do when he's frustrated. "I've told you because you need to know so you can be effective on this case, not because I want to examine the personal lives of our teammates," he says swiftly.

"Gosh, you're a spoilsport!" Langley exclaims. She hasn't seemed to get the point, and Anderson reminds himself that she rarely ever does when she's dealing with her colleagues. He used to be amazed that she her years in Counterintelligence hadn't given her a little more finesse, or at least some common sense, but now he's just annoyed.

He glowers at her and shakes his head, "I'm going to go get us a lift to the precinct. You can come with me if you think you can keep your curiousity under control," he says.

. . . . .

The press are assembled on the steps of the precinct, and Penelope arrives in time to hear Kelly reminding them to show some discernment and sensitivity. "Ms. Gardiner won't be taking any questions as the focus needs to be on appealing to the abductor. If you have queries you may direct them to me after she has made her statement," the agent says.

She's taken her hair out and as she's standing at the podium she reminds Penelope of someone. It's someone significant, but not anyone Penelope had known for an extended amount of time. "Is she..." Garcia tries to think of the name but all that comes to mind is 'pig farm', and she doesn't want to remember the 89 pairs of orphaned shoes. "She reminds me of Canada," Penelope says, naming the place she's only been to once. She's sure the country has some rather nice bits, but she never got very far from the border and the place will forever be associated with horrifying experiments.

"Kelly was the survivor," Morgan confirms as he comes up beside Hotch, "Reid and I are heading out to check on the scum of society. Call if anything changes." He nods to Garcia before forging past the sea of reporters and cameramen. She feels more trusting of Agent Shane, now that she knows the young woman was once a victim in a case that Garcia helped to solve.

Beside her, Hotch checks his watch, "we can't wait for Jason, but Kelly will be next to you the entire time. I know she's not JJ, but she's just as compassionate and does her job very well. If you forget the talking points, she'll be there to help." He stoops down so he's at Liam's level and straightens out the boy's red sweater. "You are so brave, buddy," he says, "remember to talk to Bridget when your Mom asks you to, alright?"

Agent Shane is waving them forward and the murmurs between journalists are beginning to ease. Penelope picks Liam up and walks towards the podium, perfectly aware that every eye is on them. The BAU's current liaison gives her a reassuring smile and steps back from the microphone. A duplicate copy of the talking points is perched on the podium, but Garcia has been encouraged not to rely on them too much. At the last moment Jason appears on the platform and sidles up next to her. "Sorry I'm late," he says quietly, just before Agent Shane nods to the cameras.

Penelope is supposed to speak from the heart, so she does. "My name is Pippin Gardiner, and this is my son Liam, and his grandfather. This morning while I was sleeping, a man came into the room that Liam shares with his twin sister, Bridget. We sometimes call her Bridie. Bridget is three; she will turn four in October. She likes running and jumping, and gets very bored when I try to make her walk. We went to the zoo last week and she told me she wants to be a dolphin when she grows up," Penelope swallows and surveys the multitude of cameras that surround her. Their lenses glint in the sun, but when she makes eye contact with the people holding the cameras, they smile supportively.

"Um," she glances at Liam who seems absolutely awestruck, "Liam and I miss Bridget very much. We know that sometimes we forget to show Bridget how much we love her, but we really do. So I am grateful towards the man that Bridget is with now, because he has reminded me it's very important." That line had come directly from Hotch, who had explained that it was a bad idea to make the unsub feel ashamed. "I hope that Bridget will be returned to us safely soon. Bridget has never spent the night away from us. Baby, if you're watching or listening, I love you so much," Penelope tries to look happy in case her baby is watching. "Is there anything you want to say, Liam?" she asks.

Gideon reaches in and adjusts the microphone so it's closer to Liam's mouth, then he nods at his grandson. Liam looks unsure of what to say, even though he's run through it with Hotch three times already. "I miss you, Bridget. And thank you remembering her toy lion, mister," Liam says solemnly. He raises his tiny hand to his mouth and blows a kiss to the camera before burrowing his face in Penelope's neck. The small gesture is sweet, and Liam's own idea.

It makes tears spring up in Penelope's eyes and her throat is so choked up that she can't speak anymore, so she steps down from the podium. Jason moves into her place and sets his hands down on the polished dark wood. He to make one of his broad, beaming smiles, the kind that cheers Bridget up if ever she's feeling sad. "Bridie, I don't want you to be scared," he speaks slowly and softly in the same tone he uses when he puts the children to bed. "Please remember that I love you all the way to the moon and back, just like Big Nutbrown Hare in your favourite book, and I can't wait to give you a hug when you come home," he gives one last peaceful smile to the cameras before relinquishing the podium to Agent Shane.

. . . . .

Bridget sits listlessly on the couch with her arms hugging her knees tightly to her chest. After a while her arms start to feel funny, so she eases her legs down and leans back into the couch. She lets her arms fall down by her sides and one of them crashes onto something hard. The silly sounds of the Care Bears instantly disappear, and in their place is her Mommy's voice, _"...the zoo last week and she told me she wants to be a dolphin when she grows up."_

"What did you do?" Sam demands, leaping up off the couch. He looks confused and angry, and it makes Bridget even more scared than she was before.

"I bumped it on accident!" she says. She doesn't want to make Sam mad, but she wants to see if that's really Mommy on the television, so she leans over to peer around him. It is. It's Mommy, and Papa, and Liam, all standing inside the television. "That's my Mommy," she informs Sam quietly, pursing her lips together and pointing at the screen.

Sam turns around and looks too, he looks surprised but Bridget hardly notices because she's too busy watching her family. She hopes that if she doesn't move, he'll forget that she's there and let her keep watching Mommy. It seems to work, because Sam doesn't turn the TV off and he doesn't keep yelling at her.

Bridget listens to Mommy, she listens to Liam, she listens to Papa, and then she screams when they disappear. That makes Sam remember her. He lunges towards the television and presses the button that makes it go black. "They're lying! You're not Bridget, you're Katie, and I'm the only one who loves you," he scowls darkly and rushes out of the room, leaving Bridget to throw herself across the couch and sob.

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_**A/N: **__ Thanks again for reading, and an extra big thanks to those special someones who have left reviews or set up alerts. I love signing in and seeing that people are enjoying my writing. I'm astounded by how many visitors this story has and it makes me write all the more faster. I tried to upload this earlier today but FF.N was having a meltdown, so it got postponed.  
_

_What can we look forward to next chapter, you ask? Some JJ, a less reserved Hotch, and a side of interesting phone calls!_


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